


First Breath After Coma

by Siria



Category: Thoughtcrimes
Genre: Challenge: Porn Battle V, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-20
Updated: 2008-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freya never went past second base with anyone in high school. Nervous, giggling fumblings were as far as she got before the world came crashing in on her, and touch became something to be avoided, feared, shunned like everything and everyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Breath After Coma

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle V.

Freya never went past second base with anyone in high school. Nervous, giggling fumblings were as far as she got before the world came crashing in on her, and touch became something to be avoided, feared, shunned like everything and everyone else.

She'd turned into her own mind in an effort to get away from others, sought solace in the rhythm of words to hide from a body that had betrayed her; even now, after all her training, after all the months she's spent relearning a world that forgot her, it's a habit that's hard to break. In all the ways that count, Freya's sixteen in the body of a twenty-five year old, and she doesn't know how she's supposed to have changed.

Brendan's patient with her, and gentle, and from the very first moment he leans in to kiss her on a street-corner in the rain, he's helping her learn to navigate a body which took the last leap from child to woman while she wasn't watching. He spends whole afternoons in bed with her, kissing her, murmuring soft sounds of delight when she kisses him back. Freya closes her eyes when Brendan runs the pads of callused fingertips along the long lines of her, his touch letting her remember how to live in a body that's hair and flesh and bone, muscle and thundering blood. His fingers curl delicately around the arch of her ribcage, the flare of her waist, oddly chaste through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, tightening just a little when she reaches out in return to touch his chest, to run her foot along his calf and feel the way he flexes against her.

She knows Brendan wants more than this: reads it in every touch of his; every shaky breath exhaled against her mouth; every time he mentally chastises himself for feeling like a horny teenager again when he catches sight of her nipples hardening beneath his touch. There's want in the curve of his mouth when he smiles at her, desire written in the lifeline of the hand he touches gently to her breast, but he never pushes; he tells her they can go as fast or as slow as she wants, and Freya knows that he's telling the truth, as sincere as he always is when it comes to math or Saturday morning cartoons or her. He makes her smile.

Freya also knows for a certainty that on afternoons like those, when she pads into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for a mouth that's grown swollen with kisses, that Brendan retreats to her bathroom to slake a thirst of a different kind: one hand braced against the tiled wall while he uses to the other to bring himself off quick and hard. Neat white teeth bite into his lower lip while he struggles not to moan out loud, not to let loose a stream of _FreyaFreyawantFreya_ that's closer to emotion than it is to words, pure and unfettered.

She stands in her kitchen in her plain white cotton panties and Brendan's over-sized NSA softball team t-shirt, sips her water and looks out of the window at the New York skyline. She can't hear Brendan, but Freya can feel him getting close, heat pooling low in her belly, between her legs, at the feelings that just the thought of her can cause in him--a tide pulling him towards her even as she reaches out towards him.

In the other room, Brendan gasps Freya as he comes, the fine line of his back curling and arching; in the kitchen, Freya silently mouths his name; and she knows that not long from now, when she finally welcomes him inside her and he slides home with a shocky gasp, it'll be like taking the first breath in a brand new body, opening her eyes to look at some place new.


End file.
